


Tell-Tale

by sanguinity



Category: Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:00:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23667271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguinity/pseuds/sanguinity
Summary: A gift  from Hornblower on the occasion of Bush's captaincy of the Nonsuch.
Relationships: William Bush & Horatio Hornblower
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	Tell-Tale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goldenhart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenhart/gifts).



> For goldenhart, who indulges my half-idle questions with research.

The chance to go to sea again, to captain a ship of his own instead of a stinking, graft-ridden dockyard, was a greater gift than Bush had ever hoped for; indeed, he had looked for no other beyond it. Nevertheless, the first evening of their sail for Skaw found him in his Commodore's cabin, flush on the pleasure of good port and a new voyage, holding a neat cherrywood box in his hands: a gift from his Commodore. 

"Well, go on," Hornblower said testily, as prone as ever to his peculiar vagaries of mood. 

Perplexed, Bush opened the lid. 

A handsome gimbal-mounted compass lay inside, finer than Bush could afford, its brass casing engraved with delicate scrollwork. The card had East and West reversed from their customary locations, and he frowned for a moment, before realising he was looking at it inverted from its intended position: a captain's tell-tale, to be mounted overhead, above a captain's cot so that he may look upon it on the moment of waking. Bush could be forgiven for being slow to recognise the device: until two weeks before, when he had first taken residence in the captain's cabin aboard the _Nonsuch,_ the existence of such objects had been entirely theoretical. In the anxious frenzy of manning his ship and preparing for sea, he had had no time to think on his cabin furnishings, and of course he had had little need for a tell-tale while riding at anchor in the Downs, as they had been until this very morning. 

_Captain William Bush, HMS Nonsuch,_ the engraving around the bezel read. 

"Sir!" Bush protested, running a reverent finger over the inscription. 

"To commemorate your first command." 

"It is very thoughtful of you. Thank you, sir," Bush answered, low and fervent. It was too kind, and the sentiment he had successfully contained until this moment spilled over. "Thank you for placing your trust in me, sir. I would never have been able to come back to sea, but for you. Never come back to sea, nor never made captain before that. All my good fortune is due to you, sir." 

Hornblower cleared his throat and shifted in his chair, thinking of Bush's decided ill-fortune in losing a leg. He placed the responsibility for that on himself — a responsibility that never seemed to occur to Bush. But he shook the thought off; he would not dim Bush's happiness with such a comment. "Anyone else would only be an annoyance, after all these years together." 

Bush grinned widely, correctly hearing more compliment in that statement than the words could strictly be construed to convey. "And right fine years, they were, too, sir. With better yet to come, I'm sure of it." 

Again Hornblower cleared his throat. "We'll see," he allowed. "Come now, have a drink with me. To the _Nonsuch,_ may her captain know only good fortune!" 

"To the Nonsuch!" Bush echoed, and drank gladly. The _Nonsuch_ was a fine ship, and he could scarce believe his good fortune in commanding her. He raised his own glass again. "To the best and most generous commodore afloat," he returned, and had the pleasure of seeing Hornblower colour hotly. "May he find wealth and glory in the Baltic!" 

"I shall be content to do my duty," Hornblower reproved sternly, but Bush felt no sting in it: Hornblower had always been queer about prize money. Nevertheless, the _Sutherland's_ final voyage had been profitable enough, Hornblower flushing out and snapping up fat prizes, that single cruise making up for years of poor fortune previously. Between that and the recovery of the _Witch,_ Bush had received a tidy sum on his return to England, and had finally made his sisters comfortable. There had even been something left over for him to marry on someday, should he ever find a miss whose head was turned by a grizzled old one-legged, shore-bound sea-captain, chained to the Sheerness dockyard. 

But he was shore-bound no more, unchained and with a ship of his own, and he grinned with the delight of it. 

The _Nonsuch_ was pitching proudly with the North Sea rollers — Bush had thought he would never know the likes of it again. And to know it as captain, no less! Again he ran his finger over the engraving around the compass light. The words read as they did before: _Captain William Bush, HMS Nonsuch._

"You had best get an idler up to hang that for you," Hornblower said, "and then tomorrow you can know the singular pleasure of supervising your helmsman from your bed." It was an uncommonly friendly statement from Hornblower, and Bush felt well-favoured: to have a captaincy, to be at sea again, and to sail under the command of a man he had the honour to call a friend. 

"Thank you, sir," he said, unsure how to impress on Hornblower the depth of his gratitude, knowing only that he must try. "Both for this, and for what it commemorates — I'm more grateful than I could ever say." 

But that was too much sentiment for Hornblower, as Bush had known it would be. Hornblower stiffly downed his glass and put it aside. "I'm going to take one last turn on deck. Care to join me?" 

Bush had been long enough at sea that he no longer heard the difference between an invitation and an order — indeed, he needed no order to follow Hornblower. Bush downed his glass, as well. "Of course, sir. With pleasure."


End file.
